Poor Bestie. This one happened this week. Autocorrect? Or maybe just me skipping words. Who knows. Either way.
He’s lucky. Being my best friend comes with the perk of saying: what the actual fuck is she saying? at least once a day. If not more.
And now I can make “poop” an official tag on my blog. Great My parents – they’re so proud.
I am lucky enough to have some great (and hilarious) people in my life. When situations arose that meant I needed to leave my house for awhile, I called my best friend. Who immediately came in and took care of my house and my animals. What can I say – I am a lucky (and snarky) girl. Things haven’t gotten exactly better, but they have become different. The end of the story is that I had to permanently relocate. El Dog and La Cat were still at the house with the best friend. Who was awesome enough he would take, honor, and cherish El Dog but he couldn’t take La Cat with him and I couldn’t rehome El Dog with me, since he basically tries to rip the throats out of the other animals at my home.
It’s a sad story, right? I know. But he loves my best friend. My best friend loves him. And it’s for the best. For everyone. Doesn’t mean I miss him less. Nor does it mean that Bestie (He’s going to love that that’s his nickname) doesn’t miss La Cat, either. He lived with her for years. And even though she’s terrible and mean and slightly disfigured (okay, she isn’t) we both love her. This means the last few weeks, as the animals get readjusted to their new digs that we have sent a lot of texts back and forth about them. Here is just a glimpse from last night.